AUTHOR: Carolyn Savage | POSTED: March 25, 2013 | COMMENTS: 10 Comments
I’m not at home this week, but I’m kind of at home this week.
Confused? I know…bear with me.
This past Friday the little girls and I flew to south Florida to visit my parents. As I write this I’m hunkered down in my room, Mary Kate is asleep at the foot of my bed, and the twins are across the hall zonked out after a full day of seventy degree grandparent’s time. I didn’t grow up here. My parents don’t even own the house they abscond to every January through April, but that doesn’t matter. Home isn’t about the house.
Home is about the people.
Even though half of my “people” are stuck up north, in a cold and snowy hell, many of my people are here. People I’ve grown up with and are a significant part of my life. Of course, my parents are here and nothing is more comforting than falling asleep knowing that the two people who have done the most for me in this world are sleeping only a few short steps from my room. I love drifting off to the light beaming from my parents’s bedroom as my dad reads his latest history book. For as long as I can remember he’s always done that. When I said goodnight to my mom tonight, she diverted her attention away from her beloved HGTV just long enough to wish me a good rest, the same way she always has. If the stability of life’s routines bring comfort in the form of another episode of House Hunters International or the latest biography of some obscure civil war general than I’ll take it. I know that I’m lucky to have both my parents in my life.
My parents migrate to this part of Florida because of their people. Here they reunite with friends that have been part of their lives from since before I was born. A bunch of friends from what used to be a tiny little yacht club where the St. Clair river meets Lake Huron. (It only seems appropriate that I clarify …they aren’t boaters or yachters. They are sailors…and there’s a difference.) They’ve raised their children together and now they are enjoying their grandchildren together. There’s no pretense among the members of this group. They are the truest of friends. That’s why my parents make their winter home here.
Because of their people.
Last night the Coreys came to dinner. If you’ve read Inconceivable, you know who the Coreys are. If you haven’t here’s the Cliff version…The Coreys are my Canadian parents. As far back as I can remember, the first thing we did when arriving at our was to put on our life jackets. The second thing we did was find the Coreys. The Corey kids, Stephen, David and Margaret, stair stepped the three kids in my family and we were inseparable. We vacationed with them every summer “up north” on our boat. For every knuckle headed thing my brothers and I did on our boat, there was a guarantee that after we “heard” about it from my dad, we’d “hear” about it from Mr. Corey. Yes, his Canadian tongue caused him to ‘parent’ us using funny words like ‘nitwit’ and ‘eh’, but he always had my dad’s back in case what my dad had just yelled at us about hadn’t sunk in. At a sailing club it takes a village.
That’s why they are my people, too.
Tomorrow I get to visit with more of my people. All sailors. All Canadian. All a massive part of my childhood. I love this opportunity. Not living in a home town, very little of what I expose my children to has anything to do with my history. So here, in south Florida where I’m not even from, I get the chance to teach my kids about my people. My home.
I learned a long time ago that home is not about the house. Now I know home isn’t even about the the city, state, or country. Home is about the people.
I love being at home.
Thank you for bearing with me after the cyber hacking two weeks ago. Things are slowly getting back online. I promise I’ll have some awesome pics coming on the blog as soon as the engineers working on kicking out all the bugs can figure out why I can’t post a picture here. Until then, you only get words. My condolences.